Unexpected Danger
by aurimaedre
Summary: Molly gets mad at Sherlock for putting her in danger.


**Disclaimer: I own nothing**

**This was part of the sleeping position challenge on tumblr. I chose them facing their backs towards each other on opposite sides of the bed.**

Molly rushed up the stairs and slammed the door in a huff. Sherlock followed quietly behind and slipped into her flat at discreetly as he could, in the hope that he would not get noticed by the angry women standing before him.

However, since she practically slammed the door in his face it proved impossible for him to enter without her knowing. The smallest click of the door opening and closing caused her to turn around and rail into him.

"He had a knife at my throat, Sherlock. A bloody knife!" She yelled.

Sherlock stood quietly, knowing from her increased breathing and red face that she was far from done from her rant.

"I just…. I… First, you drag me from work, in the middle of an autopsy mind you, for God knows what reason only to find out that you want me to be your little sidekick! Then, you let me get captured because you couldn't be bothered to wait for me to catch up to you! And when you finally found me you decided to have a battle of wits with the guy holding a knife at my throat! You might as well have just invited him to tea!"

"You're safe now, no need for the dramatics, Molly." Sherlock scoffed.

"Safe?!" Molly screeched, "His knife was pressing into my skin so hard he cut me! I know that you can see the evidence of that, Mr. Consulting Detective. All because you decided to taunt him about his relationship with Jim and that Jim never loved him back!"

Sherlock shifted his stance and ran his fingers through his curls. "I had the situation under control, Molly, I knew that you would get taken and I knew that no harm would come to you. I needed to find Moran and the only way to do that would be to have someone with me. Something which would make him think he had leverage over me."

"You mean you needed bait!" She shot back in anger.

"Effectively, yes." He said calmly, not understanding why she was so angry. She survived, and in far better condition than John did most of the time. All in all, it was a success.

His words seemed to deflate Molly's fury. Her expression crumbled, sadness and hurt clouding her eyes.

"That's really all you see me as, isn't it? Bait? You don't even care that my life could have been in danger tonight; all you care about is the high that comes with a successful case. I guess I just thought that after everything… helping you fake your death, giving you a place to stay, lying to everyone I care about… I just thought that you would view me differently. But I can see now that that won't ever happen, that you don't care what happens to me. You told me that I counted but I really don't, do I? I am just mousy Molly, here to assist you in whatever way I can after just a few nice words."

Sherlock opened his mouth to tell her that everything he told her that night was true. That she did count, she was one of the few that counted, and that he knew that she would be okay tonight. That was the only reason he even let her come. Granted, he wasn't anticipating Moran to actually dig the knife into her skin, but there is always something.

Molly interrupted him before he could speak, "You know what, nevermind. I'm just tired of dealing with this all the time. I don't want to hear any more of your pretty words that make me forgive you at the drop of a hat. I'm done with that. I thought that you had begun to respect me, but I can see from tonight's actions that you don't. Right now I just want to go to bed and forget that today ever happened."

She turned and walked into her bedroom, missing the look of regret on Sherlock's face. He looked at the couch and his expression soured. The first night he spent with Molly he tried to sleep on the couch and it ended horribly. One, he was too tall for the couch and two; it was apparently the resting place for her cat. Needless to say, Sherlock woke up with a backache and the cat smothering his face.

After he complained about it all morning Molly said that when he needed to sleep he could share her bed since it was large enough to sleep two comfortably. However, he doubted Molly would be so welcoming tonight. He stood there, glaring at the couch, before he decided that Molly would just have to deal with it. She was never angry at him for long and he always needed a good night's rest at the end of a case. Surely Molly wouldn't turn him away from that after he had been awake for 72 straight hours.

He stood in the doorway, "I need sleep. I assume our normal procedure is still in effect and has not been negated due to earlier events?"

"Fine, Sherlock." Molly sighed before turning over on her side so that her back would be facing him, obscuring her face.

Sherlock also noticed that she had inched herself all the way to the edge of the bed in hopes of getting as far away from him as possible. Sherlock laid down on his back and let his eyes rake over her form; he noticed her tense posture and the way she curled into herself before his eyes settled on her neck. She had missed a spot where the knife cut her. The blood had dried, creating a prominent line against her pale skin. He felt his stomach turn as guilt washed over him. He never intended her to get hurt and he was, for once, genuinely sorry.

He turned to his side, facing away from her, so that he wouldn't have to see that small reminder of how wrong things had gone. He also didn't want to think about that moment when he saw the knife at her throat and the terror that ran through him when Moran pressed it hard against her skin or the redness of her blood discoloring the silver of the weapon. If he thought about it, then he would have to think about how much Molly had come to mean to him in such a short amount of time and he wasn't quite ready to do that. He wanted to lock it away in his mind palace and continue thinking that he didn't believe in sentiment even though Molly Hooper was slowing starting to prove him wrong.


End file.
